


The Naming of Names

by Fantasyenabler



Series: The Power of Words [1]
Category: Marvel, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, M/M, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-11
Updated: 2010-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasyenabler/pseuds/Fantasyenabler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's had many names over the years, and they've all held a certain amount of power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-off response to the [](http://community.livejournal.com/jetass/profile)[**jetass**](http://community.livejournal.com/jetass/) fic challenge and not really part of any series, although it could be seen as taking place sometime in my _Too Stupid_ universe. I just don't know where yet is all. Also, the last part is partially inspired by come comments Carey has made about Bobby's powers. As per usual, we'll see if he ends up jossing me.

Valentine's Day always makes Sam nervous. He'd never really thought about it until three years ago when he was in kindergarten, and his teacher had everybody use the Elmer's Glue to put lace on boxes and the safety scissors to cut out red paper hearts. Everybody then had to give their hearts to everybody else, and Sam wasn't so sure he ought to be doing that. Cutting out those hearts had been hard. Why would he want to give them away?

Then he saw how empty his lace box was. He gathered up his stack of hearts and started holding them out to the other kids. Every one of the other kids. The teacher even.

His box soon filled up that year, and the next year, and last year in second grade too. It doesn't keep him from worrying this year though. He's afraid of being empty-boxed. He knows it never happens, but he can't help it. He remembers what it looked like, and it scares him.

Even more though, he doesn't want anyone else to be empty-boxed either.

There are always a couple of kids who nearly are

They're the ones only the teacher pays any real attention to. The ones who don't play kickball and don't play tag and can't seem to talk to anybody who isn't an adult already.

Sam hates to see it, so he makes sure to give everyone a heart. His friend Mark gives him a hard time about it, says he's being a big ole wuss, but Sam doesn't care. He'd rather be called a big ole wuss than see someone holding an empty box. He doesn't mind the name. Names don't hurt the way those boxes can.

Besides, it's worth it to read what some of those near-empty boxes write on the hearts they give back.

_You're the best boy I know, Sammy,_ one reads. _Did you know your name means, "His name is God"? I looked it up just so I'd have something special for you this year. My mom says it suits you._

Sam didn't know that and thinking about it makes him smile. He folds the heart up in his notebook and decides he'll show it to Mama later. Even if it means he'll have to tell her that no, it's not okay to start calling him "Sammy" again. He's a third grader now, for heaven's sake.

Even big ole wusses have some pride.


	2. Part Two of "The Naming of Names," NC-17 Sam/Bobby slash fic

Trigonometry had to be invented by a sadist, Sam thinks. Algebra at least makes some sense—he can see where solving for X can be useful in real life—but when is he ever going to need to know about the functions of angles? Ms. Wombley tells him he shouldn't be so quick to discount any kind of knowledge, that it's all useful, but he just can't see how that could possibly be true of trigonometry and its terms like "sine," "cosine," and "tangent." It's only the fact that he knows there's always a trig question or two on the college entrance exams that keeps him working at it. Otherwise, he wouldn't see the point of trying to learn those terms at all.

Not that college may be an option for Sam anymore. Not with Daddy suddenly feeling so tired all of the time, and Mama looking so worried. They haven't admitted anything to Sam or Paige or any of the others yet, but all of the kids know something's up. They're just waiting right now, waiting for either Mama or Daddy to call them into the kitchen, to gather them around the table, and tell them something bad.

Something real bad.

Sam throws his trig book into the locker more forcefully than he means to, and it hits the metal in the back hard. Like a bullet shot out of a gun, or possibly a ball shot out of a cannon. In any case, it clangs real loud, louder even than the time Joshua decided to serenade everybody by banging some of Mama's pots and pans together, or the time Paige got nervous about waking up for a big test and set the alarm clock in the girls' room at its most annoying level.

Thankfully, the usual after-school chaos reigns in the hall and hardly anyone notices. Sam glances around and the only people looking at him are some of a group of boys standing a few lockers down. He nods at them and they nod back before turning towards the boy in the center of the group, the one talking like he's laying something out for the others. Sam doesn't need to look twice to know it's Jimmy Matthews. Jimmy's been a big deal for his classmates ever since they realized that he could sink a three-point shot like he could see the net from anywhere and run with a football like he had rockets on his feet. It's not anything Sam's ever cared about, but he can't blame any of the others for doing so. If he didn't have school and work and trying to get a full scholarship for college on his plate, he might have time to care too.

He wonders if he'll ever have a life where he has that kind of time.

"Guthrie." More than one voice calls his name, and when Sam turns, he sees all of the boys in that group staring at him. "Come here, would ya?" one of them, Mark Jenkins, asks. Mark's a boy Sam used to play a lot with back in elementary school, back when he had the time for such things. He beckons to Sam with his right hand and adds, "We need to ask you something."

Sam considers telling them that whatever it is, he doesn't have time for it, that he needs to go home and study. But that would mean taking his trig book back out of his locker and he's not ready for that yet. "What do you want?" he asks, moving closer.

The group shifts so that Jimmy Matthews can step out of the center spot to talk to Sam. "We're planning something really cool," he says, tilting his head and staring at Sam like he's trying to see inside him, "but we're just now figuring out that we don't have enough guys to pull it off. The way I hear it, you've got a strong back and quick hands, and that's what we need for this. So…would you be interested in doing something this school will always talk about, something they'll remember our class for, for years and years and years from now?"

Sam doesn't need to be a rocket scientist to know what Jimmy's getting at. "You're talking about a prank," he says. "You want to try and top what the class three years ahead of us did, setting the sprinklers off in the teacher's lounge and Mr. Walker's office and the library." Which honestly Sam has always thought was a stupid prank. Especially since it ruined so many of the books Sam and others would need to study properly. "What did you have planned?"

Jimmy smirks and shakes his head. "Uh-uh," he says. "I can't tell you until you're in, but believe me, Guthrie, you're going to want to be in." He steps closer and Sam can smell sawdust from the last period shop class Jimmy takes. "Trust me. This is going to make history."

Sam steps back and grabs his trig book out of his locker. "I'm not interested," he says, closing the metal door. "Y'all are going to have to find somebody else. I got work to do."

Somebody in the group starts to speak, saying, "Oh, come on, Sam…" but stops when Jimmy raises a hand. "You're sure?" Jimmy asks.

Sam nods. It's all he feels he has to do.

Jimmy sighs and turns away. "Suit yourself," he says, rejoining his group.

Sam turns away himself and walks off, trig book firmly in his hand, but his notebook left in his locker. He considers going back for it until he hears a loud voice speaking behind him.

"Told you he was too much of a Boy Scout."

Sam decides not to go back. There's nothing there he really needs.

 


	3. Part Three of "The Naming of Names," NC-17 Sam/Bobby slash fic

It's a silly game, but Sam has to admit he's not sure what else they can do while they're waiting. The X-Men told them to sit tight until they heard differently, and so they are. Every single member of the New Mutants has claimed a spot in the mansion's living room, and so far, none of them has done anything but sit, sit, and sit some more. They could be watching television, or playing a board game, but they're all too jumpy and nervous to agree on anything. It's only Roberto's suggestion of a different kind of game that has perked any of their interest, so Sam puts aside his doubts and tells the others that he'll play.

A few minutes later and he's thinking he should have known better. That somewhere deep down inside he'd ignored the instinct that used to tell him whenever his little brothers and sisters had started something that could only end in tears.

Dani's scowling from her post on the edge of the big brown couch. "Dream Girl?" she asks in a voice that could cut glass, steel, and probably some types of adamantium. "Why Dream Girl?"

Roberto smiles with "Charming Smile Number Seventeen," the one he uses whenever he's letting his arrogance blind him to any danger he might be in. "Why, because of your powers, of course," he says. "You can call forth anyone's greatest desire, their greatest dream. So…Dream Girl. It would be a perfect code name for you if you ever wanted to stop calling yourself Mirage."

Sam can see Dani doesn't agree, and that she's about to tell Roberto just how _much_ she doesn't agree, so he does the only thing he can do. He grabs the pencil they're using as a "spinner" and takes his turn. "Okay, we're off again," he says as he watches the chewed-up stick of yellow wood spin on the coffee table. "Whoever this lands on has to come up with an alternate code name for me, right?"

Roberto turns his smiling face away from his near-death-by-Cheyenne/Valkyrie and nods. "Right. And if you ask them to explain why they choose what they choose, they have to be honest and tell you."

"Gotcha." The pencil stops and Sam looks up from the table to see whom it's pointing towards. He already knows it can't be Rahne or Warlock. They're both sitting on the floor beside him. Roberto's in the chair closest to the television, Dani and Doug are on the couch, and Illyana's…

Illyana's in the recliner beside the couch, legs crossed beneath her. She grins down at Sam from her higher vantage point and Sam can't help but cringe a little at what might be coming for him. He likes 'Yana. He genuinely does, but he'd dare anyone to see that expression and not be afraid. Anyone. Professor Xavier even.

She grins wider and then smirks just before she proves his fears right. "Jetass," she says. "I think your alternate code name should be Jetass."

Sam doesn't even think about asking her to explain. He just hands the pencil to Warlock.

Mercifully, Warlock spins it without saying a word.

 


	4. Part Four of "The Naming of Names," NC-17 Sam/Bobby slash fic

The sun's setting over the desert as X-Force limps back to their base at Camp Verde, and Sam stands in the twilight and takes stock of the damage done to his team. They're cut-up and bruised, but none of them have any real bad wounds, and they look pissed more than demoralized or exhausted. He figures that if he were to suggest trying to track down the MLF squad that jumped them, they'd be all for it, and after that unfair ambush, he's half-tempted to let them do it. It's only the fact that they wouldn't be in the right frame of mind for a fight right now that ultimately keeps him from it. The way they're feeling, they'd make stupid mistakes, and if Sam's learned anything over the years, it's that it only takes one stupid mistake to make even the most dangerous of people irretrievably dead.

Not that Sam has to worry about that these days. Or at least he doesn't think he needs to. There's so much he doesn't know, about his immortality, his future, or what it might all mean for his family and loved ones. It staggers him to stand still and try to think about it. He'd almost rather fight than be quiet lately, a state of being he finds nearly as bothersome as all the nagging questioning.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to be bothered alone. "Let's head in," he says to the others, and they file inside, some leaning on each other, some staggering in by themselves. As they pass, Sam looks to the man hanging in the back, waiting as Sam does to see if everyone can make it in with no problems. Nathan turns towards him as he walks forward, his big weapon sitting on his broad shoulders. He doesn't say anything, but his expression tells Sam that he's wondering what Sam is thinking.

Sam steps close and mouths, "Read my mind."

He knows it's all the cue Nathan needs, that once everyone is settled in to both of their satisfaction, that he'll be there for Sam, the way he has been ever since he returned from that trip into the future Stryfe sent him on, the one that made him realize that he wanted to offer Sam more than just a life of pain and death and warfare.

That doesn't mean he'll ever come out and say what they are though, or admit it to the others. Sam figures that ought to bother him, but it doesn't, not really. He figures he has everything he wants out of the relationship. He doesn't need for it to be anything more.

He doesn't need anyone to call him "beloved."

Names have never mattered to Sam anyway.

 


	5. Part Five of "The Naming of Names," NC-17 Sam/Bobby slash fic

The room's dark, but all of the bedrooms at the mansion have similar layouts, and Sam has no problems getting around any of the furniture. The only obstacles he needs to worry about are the uniform boots Bobby has a tendency to leave wherever they land and possibly a CD or two lying on the floor. There's no melting ice anywhere, since Bobby's very conscientious these days about his powers and any way they could possibly hurt people, but he'll never be conscientious about being messy. He likes to claim that he's "all about the chaos," and Sam sometimes wants to tell Bobby that you haven't seen chaos until you've lived in a Kentucky farmhouse with what seems like countless little brothers and sisters underfoot, but he doesn't. Sam often thinks his lover takes some sort of comfort out of consistently being named the annoying one in his relationships, and Sam's not about to ruin that for him. He doesn't agree with it, but he's not going to change it. He's learned that everyone needs their defense mechanisms, no matter how odd they might be.

Especially right now, he thinks, as he pulls off his own uniform and drapes it over a nearby chair. The bed's as dark as the rest of the room, but if he squints, he can just make out the restless form shifting back and forth under the covers. Bobby's subconscious has been working overtime lately, hacking away at his peace of mind as he sleeps, with the result being that whenever Bobby's awake, he tends to look and act like he hasn't slept at all. Sam wishes he could make the nightmares go away, but the truth is all he can do is be there for the times when they wake Bobby up. Bobby won't tell him any details, but Sam knows they're bad by how little Bobby complains whenever Sam wraps him up and holds him. Typically, Bobby isn't very fond of being babied, his sensitivity from having once been the youngest X-Man still there despite the passage of years, but in the middle of the night, he doesn't tell Sam to let him go. Instead, he holds on as tightly as he can, content to let Sam cover him with his longer body and to burrow himself under Sam's limbs and to snug up against Sam's skin.

It's like Sam's warmth and scent are the only things keeping Bobby sane at the moment.

Sam doesn't want to think about how much that might be true.

He's never minded helping people carry burdens, but he's also never liked thinking about what happens when those people falter, the pain and the emptiness that can follow. He's seen it and it never fails to scare him. It's something he thinks he'll never stop fearing, no matter how long he might outlive everyone around him.

Right now though, his concern is only for one person in particular, and as he slips under the covers, he reaches out and rubs his hands along the bare skin of Bobby's back and shoulders. Bobby's frantic motions quiet when he does, and even though Bobby's still asleep, his body turns so that Sam can slip in beside him and pull him close, Sam's fingers tracing lightly across Bobby's spine. Sam shifts so that Bobby's head can rest in the crook between Sam's head and shoulder, and as Bobby settles, Sam hears what sounds like a cross between a sob and a sigh.

The sound makes Sam want to wake him up, to ask what he's seeing, but every telepath in the mansion has told him repeatedly not to do that. They seem to think that Bobby needs to work out his fears by himself, and Sam knows it's probably foolish to disagree with them.

Except for the times when he does. When he wants to say to hell with them, the X-Men, and their desire for Bobby to finally comes to grips with his "Omegahood" and what it could mean for the rest of mutantkind. He knows the X-Men mean well, that they do care, and that they consider both Sam and Bobby to be members of their family.

But he can't quite forget how often being a part of this "family" has hurt people. His little brother Joshua for instance…

No, he's not going there. He's not. He's not going to blame the school for what Stryker did to his brother. He's not. It's foolish and there's no logic in it.

Still, he can't help but think how ironic it is that the X-Men seem to be spectacularly bad at helping mutants come to grips with their powers. It's no coincidence that Bobby has learned more about himself from villains and outsiders than he has from Xavier and his teachings, Sam thinks. No more than it was that Sam's confidence in his powers grew during his time with Nathan and X-Force rather than during his time with the New Mutants, or that Paige was better off with Emma Frost and Generation X than Joshua was here at Xavier's. There's something that just doesn't work here, and that idea bothers Sam. He wishes he knew what it was, but he doesn't. He only knows that he needs to keep it from hurting anyone else he loves.

That's why he's seriously considering asking Bobby to leave the X-Men behind and take off somewhere with him. He hates the thought of ducking their mutual responsibilities, but he hates the thought of what being at the mansion right now might do to Bobby more. He feels more confident that together they can overcome whatever problems Bobby's emerging "Omegahood" might cause than he does that the X-Men can help. Besides, once they have a handle on everything, they can always come back and try being X-Men again.

Heaven knows they've both done it before.

It's just a matter of figuring out what their priorities should be at the moment, Sam thinks. He's been thinking a lot lately about how his life has gone through so many stages, too many really for someone still so young. Those stages taught him how to deal with change though, to be whatever the situation might call for, without losing the core of what he is. They helped him through being a son, a half-orphan, a mutant, and an immortal, and they can help him through this now, being in love with someone who's going through as big of a change in status as any Sam's experienced. They can help Sam see to it that both he and his lover make it, and more importantly make it with their souls intact, all the way to the other side.

There's really no choice in the matter, Sam thinks, as Bobby nuzzles closer and rubs against Sam's shoulder. He's been in love with Bobby for almost as long as he's known him, and now that he has him, he's not about to lose him.

He's not, he thinks, as Bobby nuzzles again, kissing on Sam's shoulder this time. He's not, as Sam rolls their bodies over and runs his tongue along the side of Bobby's neck. He's not, as he kisses on Bobby's face, touching his lips to each cheekbone and brow, until Bobby's eyes peek open and he focuses in on who's pressing down on top of him.

He's definitely not, as Bobby reaches up and places his hands on Sam's face and pulls him down for a deeper open-mouthed kiss. He knows he's not, as they shift and push together, sliding their bodies along each other, over and over, until they find a rhythm that works and builds. He's not, he's not, he's not, as he pushes over, over, over, feeling the pressure growing inside, as he wraps his arms around Bobby and tugs them both onto their sides, hands planted on Bobby's hips and ass as they grind into this new position.

He's not. He's not. He's not. He's not.

Bobby plants a hand in Sam's hair and tugs and Sam's moaning before he knows it.

"Not," he whispers as he comes, as Bobby continues to move a minute or so more until he adds to the wetness, as they collapse into a pile of stickiness and sweat and general bonelessness.

"Not what?" Bobby asks, as they lie there, panting in the darkness.

Sam stares up at the shadow-laced ceiling. He considers not answering, considers pretending that the sex knocked him out, but that's not something Sam can do. "I'm not giving up," he says. "No one's going to make me either. No matter what happens. I might get knocked down, but I won't get knocked out. No way, no how. Not ever."

He looks over at Bobby, at where the security lights from outside sneak in around the window curtains and create angles of light across Bobby's face. "That's who I am," he adds. "No matter what else changes, that's always who I'm going to be."

"I know," Bobby says, and Sam hates to admit it, but it surprises him. He thought he'd have to explain, to say that he's not just talking about his immortality, that he's talking about something else, something different, something much, much more.

But he realizes now that he doesn't, and really, he should have known. When has he ever had to explain anything about himself to Bobby?

"I know, Sammy," Bobby says again, as he wraps his arms around Sam's body. "Believe me, I know." He kisses Sam lightly and runs his fingers through his hair. "I kind of wish though…"

Sam cuts him off by pressing their mouths together, by running his tongue across Bobby's open lips.

When he pulls back, he says, "I'm not leaving you and you're not pulling me down or whatever it is you're thinking you're going to do to me. We'll get through this, you'll see. We're stronger than you think."

He kisses Bobby and pulls him close. "You're stronger than you think," he adds.

"I think that's part of the problem…" Bobby starts to say, but doesn't finish. Instead he pauses, then asks, "What do you do when you find out you've never been what you thought you were?"

Sam shakes his head. He's been expecting this question, but expecting it hasn't made him any less uncertain of how to put this particular feeling into words.

"Sammy?" Bobby asks, and the expression in his eyes make Sam need to turn away. He stares up at the ceiling, sensing the heart of what he wants to say, but not able to pin down the exact terms or sentences the emotions should be encased in.

"You've always been what you are," he says finally, looking back down and hoping. "You just didn't know what it was called. That's all."

"That's all," Bobby repeats quietly, the lights having moved so that Sam can no longer make out the blue of Bobby's eyes. "That's all," he says again.

Sam nods and leans down so he can see his lover's face better. "Yeah," he says, "I think so anyway."

Bobby nods and Sam can tell now that he's staring off into the distance somewhere. "It's not going to be easy," he says. "I don't understand what I'm feeling, what my powers are trying to say to me, where they're trying to take me." He shifts and his eyes are focused back in on Sam again. "It's not going to be easy," he repeats.

Sam kisses him lightly on the mouth, before pulling back and smiling. "What else is new?" he asks. "Life's never been easy, not for you, and not for me." He kisses Bobby again, his body half-lying on top of him. "Trust me. I've known that for a long, long time."

He kisses Bobby one more time, and when he moves away this time, he brushes his fingers across Bobby's right side, across a spot he knows makes Bobby ticklish. "Since I made my Mama stop calling me 'Sammy,' by the way."

Bobby smirks at him, somewhat half-heartedly, but it's a smirk nonetheless. "I like calling you Sammy," he says, his own hands finding some spots along Sam's outer thighs. "I'm not going to stop, and I don't think you really have the power to make me, Immortal Boy."

Sam leans in, laying more of his weight on top of his lover. "You think so?" he asks, grinning as he presses downward.

Bobby tenses and Sam can feel the layers of muscle Bobby carries so densely bunching up underneath him. "Yeah," Bobby says, and a second later, Sam can't say he's surprised when they're suddenly rolling across the bed, poking and tickling at each other.

It quickly dissolves into a match that's not going to be quiet, and Sam knows it won't be long before somebody's knocking on the door and yelling at them for causing a ruckus.

Sam decides he doesn't mind. Bobby will still look sleepless tomorrow, but at least this time, it'll be for a good reason. And Sam doesn't mind joining him, especially not if it means giving Bobby a few hours worth of keeping the nightmares at bay.

Besides, Sam's sick of everyone thinking he's a Boy Scout anyway. Some labels just need to be ripped off every once in a while.

It's time to make people step back and take another look again.

It'll be interesting to hear what they see.

Fin.


End file.
